


Fate/Apocalyptica

by Scavenger98, twicely



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Universe, No Canon Servants, Original Character(s), Technically?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenger98/pseuds/Scavenger98, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twicely/pseuds/twicely
Summary: Many years after the fifth Fuyuki Grail War, a rogue faction of mages accesses the Throne of Heroes and creates their own grail. With the seemingly impossible accomplished, the eyes of the magical world turn to Washington, DC and a new Grail War begins, setting mages and Servants against one another in bloody conflict. But even more is at stake than any would have imagined. The winner of this war may decide the fate of humanity.Basically, me and my friend were sitting around concepting Servants a while back and at some point a plot grew out of them and before long we were worldbuilding America in the Nasuverse and debating character arcs for OC Masters. This is what came out of that. Enjoy!





	1. Prologue

The darkened classroom shook violently, cracked and splintered furniture flying through the air. Some people ran for the exits, trampling over each others’ bodies in desperation. Every inch of the room felt thick with terror, and the waves of madness rippling off the monster at its center crashed into those who remained, pinning them to the walls. The monster itself writhed and spun in search of its prey - civilian and Master alike. Horrific, squirming appendages emerged from the black mass of its body: arms, legs, and other, stranger things. Its very existence seemed to trivialize everything around it - no human alive would dare to oppose such a monstrosity.

Which raised the question of who could be striding out from behind a shattered desk towards the beast. He walked confidently, stopping about ten feet beyond its reach. Looking up at its massive, shadowy body, he laughed, pleased by the overwhelming power before him.

The man’s companion was still crouched behind the desk he had just left. Her name was Zoe. She was terrified.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing?” she yelled, poking her head up from the desk.

He turned around, saw her panicked face, and laughed even harder.

“It is fine, Zoe!” he said. “After all, was this not the reason I was summoned?”

He was remarkably tall and had the strong, upper-body build of a weightlifter. His hair was cut close, and his loose robes were of a fine blue cloth, sparkling darker shades accented by what might have been clear summer sky draped about him. The regal appearance matched the confidence in his open grin. He spoke English easily, with a light accent.

“Okay! Okay.” said Zoe. “Just… fight it, before it kills everyone in the room!”

He didn’t look back, but his smile widened. He stretched out his hand, and a white light formed in his open palm. It coalesced into his weapon - a short sceptre tipped with flowing hair of some kind. The magical energy pulsing through the sceptre could be felt, even from where Zoe was sitting. There was one problem, however.

“I thought you had a sword! W-what even is that?”

“Swords are for the cowardly, and the runts of the mother’s litter!” he replied. “I am the King, and the King wields his sceptre in all things!” 

He twirled the weapon, and Zoe caught a whiff of ozone.

“Including the glory of combat!” 

He crouched down for a moment, then leapt, higher than any normal person could ever hope to match, and fell toward the monster, lifting his weapon above his head.

“I accept your challenge, Berserker!” he bellowed. “Prepare yourself!”

_ “ _ But… what kind of Saber doesn’t even  _ have _ a saber? _ ” _ Zoe yelled after him, probably focused on the wrong thing.

The Holy Grail War had begun once again.

  
  
  



	2. Declaration

Idelle Rudolf von Mader stood in the courtyard of the Holy Church’s highest chapel. The building played host to the worship of the Most Holy, those closest to their God. She was accompanied by a selection of her comrades of the Chivalric Order, each a trained knight; the very image of skill and unimpeachable reputation.

The Order comprised an elite few within the Vatican’s military, pledged to serve the Lord by defeating the enemies of the Church. Many, Idelle among them, had been training for such a role since they had first begun walking and talking. Idelle demanded much as their commander, and from all but the freshest of recruits she received it. Despite Rome’s hot summer weather, the Order stood with black clerical robes perfectly pressed, not a hint of sweat on their faces. But more pressing than her pride in her men was her worry. Summons from Cardinals were hardly new to her, she was more concerned by who else had been called upon.

Across the courtyard was assembled a number of the highest-ranking Executioners, some of the most unflinchingly ruthless Inquisitors at the Church’s disposal. At the head of the group stood her counterpart, a man named Andersson. Blonde-haired and clean-shaven, with a dead look in his eyes and eternally crossed arms, his presence at this meeting boded ill. If people such as these had been called upon, then the situation was dire indeed, the sort that threatened the balance of power not only within the walls of the Vatican but in the world at large, magical and mundane alike.

The gilded door of the chapel swung open and a man stood before all of them, dressed in the hooded robe of an Inquisitor. Idelle breathed deep, and calmed her nerves.

“The Cardinals are ready to receive you.”

The chapel was resplendent inside, a golden fenced gateway halving the raised platform on which Cardinal Lucerne was flanked by four others of the Most Holy before a massive, regal cross. Among their number stood Idelle’s former Commander, Arien Carrow. Their eyes met, and Idelle felt her heart steady at the familiar presence, but neither woman let any semblance of expression show. Lucerne’s face was likewise grim and resolute. After all had assembled, he stepped forward and began his remarks.

“Most trusted members of the Church, you have been summoned today to address a grave threat to the order of this world. Thus I shall not waste our time with idle platitudes.”

His eyes were narrowed, his tone harsh. His reputation was not one of kindness.

“We have received word from our sources within the American Department of Magical Identification and Containment that a rogue Magi guild styling itself the Gnosis Institute of Sion has committed a most unspeakable offense. Not content with their usual blasphemies and crimes they have succeeded in summoning a vessel for the Greater Grail in the city of Washington, without the blessing of the Church.”

A small murmur went up around the room. Even a sanctioned Grail War often accumulated a sizeable body count, both participant and civilian. The thought of one initiated by a Godless American cult was a terrifying thing indeed.  Lucerne continued: “None could have predicted this, in fact for centuries we have assumed such a thing to be utterly impossible. As it stands now, the power of the Greater Grail could well fall into nefarious hands. Without proper oversight this travesty may devolve into a chaotic bloodbath the likes of which the world has rarely seen.”

Idelle felt sweat run down her face. An American Grail War, with Servants controlled by unknown Masters… Those preserved by the Throne of Heroes were beings of incredible power, often beyond the ability of even the most talented of mages. Without proper masters they had the potential for unimaginable disaster. The tales of such Servants, and the carnage they had caused in previous wars were the stuff of legends and nightmares. Lucerne, predicting this response, paused to let his words sink in, then gestured to the Cardinal on his right. The man nodded, and withdrew a package wrapped in cloth from beneath his robes. Lucerne took it from him, and unwrapped it.  

“But behold, our Lord has blessed us with fortune through foresight!”

In his hands he held an ancient dagger, chipped and weathered. It was steel, with the barest traces of what must have been inlaid gold. In the pommel there was a large empty slot as though a piece had been removed. For some reason looking at it made her quite sad.

“Long have we held this powerful relic, and now we shall use its power to curtail and achieve victory in this false Grail War.”

Idelle felt her heart stir. She had not realized that a Servant would be summoned here today, but looking further at the dagger it was obviously a catalyst. Such presence could mean little else after all. Lucerne motioned again. Two inquisitors seized the carpet and swept it back, revealing a complex design of shimmering metal. The Cardinal placed the relic in the center and returned his gaze to the audience.

“Those assembled here tonight have proven themselves to be the greatest warriors of our Church, each and all veterans of battle against the sins of this world.  Now, who here is worthy? Who will strike down the heretics and rule breakers, and uphold the standard needed to eventually reach the Holy Grail? Who shall wield our sword?”  Lucerne swept the room with his gaze, then fell silent.

Idelle’s heart was racing. She glanced at Andersson, whose guarded eyes showed the first signs of something resembling interest. She thought back to her service in the Church; all she had done in its name since before she could remember. As she watched her counterpart, a man soaked dozens of times in the blood of innocents, one unbidden thought rose above the clamor of her mind: _‘You are not worthy. I am.’_

But humility immediately rebuked her. She could not desire such power for such selfish, shallow reasons. The Executioners served their function for the glory of God and the Church. A sneering voice of hesitation whispered from the back of her mind. _‘Would one who was worthy be so quick to believe it so?’_

Lucerne’s voice cut through her self-flagellation.

“Von Mader, something moves within you, and yet you have not stepped forward. What holds you back?”

This was a dangerous question. Even an empty room in the Sight harbored eyes and ears, and too many of those in this chapel held power outside of it. Expressing such blasphemy as naked ambition here… it would be unwise.

“I am simply humbled by the great company I find myself in, your holiness. So accomplished are those I stand beside that I find myself quite diminished by comparison. Surely one of them would be better suited to the task.”

At her polite refusal, the room’s mood intensified. With no candidate chosen, and none willing to step up, the tension was suffocating. Andersson’s dead eyes had not left the catalyst held by Lucerne, and seemed to grow hungrier by the second. Idelle could not see an end to the stalemate until Arien Carrow stepped out from the line of Cardinals.  

“With respect, Idelle, you sell yourself short.”

Arien’s voice was firm as always, her gaze steady as she rebuked her former student.

“More than once we have stood back to back in situations I know I would not otherwise have survived. Your talent in battle and as a commander are unquestioned, else your knights would not follow you as they do. It is my opinion that you are the only truly qualified Master here.”

She eyed Andersson pointedly, and he returned the glare with freshly blank eyes. Idelle was overcome with shock, followed by dread. A Cardinal speaking out for a candidate, and a former student no less? The thought of how this must look was already eating away at her, and she glanced around the room to see how Arien’s remarks had been received. To her surprise, however, most present seemed to agree with Arien’s conclusion. A few murmurs of acquiescence came from her fellow Cardinals. Lucerne watched all of this, nodding, and addressed Idelle once again.

“Von Mader, you have been recommended by one of the Most High, and none step forth to oppose you. I trust you see no reason to doubt our judgement in this?”

She found herself, for the first time in quite some years, unable to speak. Instead, she nodded, thankful for the short time her eyes spent focused on the floor. Lucerne then looked to the ceiling of the Chapel, covered with magnificent paintings of the glory of the Church.

“This is a _false_ and _base_ shade of a Holy Grail War, and it shall be treated as such. These Magi risk the world’s ruin by their arrogant actions, blinded by their hubris, and thus it falls to us to stamp out their sinful conflict. Only the most pure of warriors can confront such an ordeal and hope to emerge untainted by its filth.”

He held his hand up to Idelle, and she glimpsed true wrath in his eyes.

“Idelle von Mader, by virtue of the services you have performed for the Church, I bestow upon you the duty to win this War, if you will but accept it.”

Doubt had taken root in the back of Idelle’s mind, but she made a conscious effort to ignore it. There was no one else. There _could be_ no one else. Surely that must mean this was God’s will. She had faith. Without further thought she dipped into a graceful bow and found her voice.

“I will do all that is required of me. Gladly.”

Lucerne nodded solemnly and stepped back.

“Excellent. Now, all that remains is to come forth and perform the ritual. You need only demonstrate your faith in our Church, and recite the Contract.”

Stepping out from the line of her knights felt much like vaulting over a barricade, and she found it a conscious and terrifying choice every time she put one foot in front of the other, yet she did so all the way to Lucerne’s side. Holding her hand out over the circle, she concentrated and opened her Magic Circuits, channeling her mana to a fever pitch. The air in the room was suddenly charged with palpable energy. Small bolts of light danced outward from her palm and from the circle.

She had never needed to perform a holy summoning, nor had most anyone else. There were few enough spirits both lowly enough to be brought forth by human command and holy enough to be used by the Church that such a thing was rare. Nonetheless, she knew the chant by heart, ever the consummate professional.

_Oh servant of holy light bound to this world of flesh,_

_In this time of need we beseech thee,_

_Lend us your hands,_

_And bare not the blade of petty vengeance,_

_But the burning fury of our Father’s justice,_

_Serve the Lord through me and end the tempest of mortal folly,_

_That peace and Order might reign e’er more_

_Guardian of the Kingdom of Men!_

The room exploded with wind and light, rippling through the Cardinals’ robes, too bright to look upon. From the center of the circle, a figure of light manifested, radiant in its brilliance.  As the light faded, Idelle opened her eyes -- then widened them further in shock. The assembled clergy muttered in confusion.

The Servant before her matched none of the Church’s records. They knelt in the center of the circle wrapped in a red cloak. A plumed, close-faced helmet covered their features. With slow, easy movements, they drew a dagger -- their catalyst made whole once more -- and placed it before their eyes as though somehow checking their reflection through the visor.

“Only fitting I suppose.” Their low, rough voice echoed off the walls.

“Servant of the Church!” said Idelle, stepping forward. “I have drawn you from the Throne of Heroes, and as such, over you I claim Mastery. I would have you name yourself.”

The dagger was returned to its sheath smoothly and without a sound, as though the metal were gliding through thin air. The armored figure sighed heavily.

“If it were only that easy…” they said. “But I am afraid I cannot recall but the faintest memory of who I am. What then is your name, you who summon me in the vessel of an Assassin?”

The last word was bitten out as though it were a virulent poison. Idelle felt a small surge of panic rise through her. Her face, however, betrayed nothing. To display weakness now would be a mistake.

“I am Idelle von Mader,” she said, “Captain of the Chivalric Order! You are to defend me and destroy our enemies, as we claim the Holy Grail for the glory of our Church and the integrity of the tradition of the Grail Wars.”

The Servant chuckled and reached up, grasping their helmet. A smooth motion removed it, revealing shining brown curls and a face, beautiful and scarred by conflict. She had some semblance of a smile on her face. “Wars?” She laughed, placing her helmet under her arm, “I know something of wars.”

She stood finally to her full height, sweeping her cloak behind her. She was at least half a foot taller than Idelle, who at six feet herself was hardly short. Her armor appeared decorative, golden plate over burgundy leathers. The dark circles under her eyes and scars on her hands pointed to a forgotten past filled with conflict, yet there was also something disarming and trustworthy about her. It was quite strange.

“Though I do not know who I was, I will nevertheless serve you with every inch of my being. With my assistance, Idelle von Mader, let it be known that you shall indeed acquire the Grail.”

Idelle felt the room relax somewhat - but the situation remained dire. She had summoned not a sacred Church Servant, but an amnesiac Assassin. She felt a sudden need to seek advice from Arien, but quashed the feeling in favor of talking with Cardinal Lucerne. There was much to do in the next few days. Sentimentality would have to wait.

 

**_-F/A-_ **

 

Dim blue streams of thought floated through the air. They swirled and tumbled, unraveling toward an opened journal and imprinting their contents on its pages. The journal’s owner sighed impatiently. The man before him was babbling, eyes wide and half rolled away, a bit of drool falling from his slackened jaw. It was a long and boring process deconstructing a mind, but the hour of waiting was necessary, especially if he wanted to save time later by filtering out the meaningless bits. Childhood memories were just so utterly _dull_.

The man himself was a USDMIC agent - an Enforcer, he recalled. Three of them had graced him with their presence just fifty minutes prior. They had, rather crudely, kicked in the door to his room and demanded he surrender himself for questioning. The two violently exploded corpses behind him were evidence of how that had turned out. It was a shame he’d had to kill them, really. They had appeared to all be somewhat talented combat mages, and it was a shame to waste such potential. The windfall of information he was about to receive and the equipment he had already scavenged from them more than made up for it however.

Finally, his victim’s mind ran dry and he closed his journal, allowing the pertinent information to wash over him. Much of it he already knew or had deduced. His letter from the Clocktower had been intercepted by a country-wide eavesdropping ward, and they had ascertained his identity through a camera he had missed on his way through airport security. Annoying, yes, but far from a disaster. Several other Masters had already entered the war, and a general detection ward had been raised over the entire city. The moment he summoned his Servant, they would learn his location and descend on him like a pack of wolves.

And… they had summoned a Berserker for themselves. That was interesting.

Already gears were turning in his head. The Clocktower could not possibly have been the only group to take notice of this Grail War. Atlas Academy, perhaps? The Wandering Sea…?  At the very least the Church would attempt to send an envoy, but the border was shut tight; it would take a massively powerful magical connection to get a mage safely into the country. The only one he could think off off the top of his head was…

He grinned and raised his hand. Any mage wishing to get in before the War ended would be forced to summon a Servant of their own. He reached out to the omnipresent power of the border wards, consciously present even so many kilometers away. To actually meddle with their workings would mean instant disintegration, but with a bit of finagling, he could perhaps isolate the sensory layer.

_‘There.’_

A small magical discharge later, he could feel a minute buzz in the back of his mind. Without further ado he set about warding the room so he could draw a summoning circle in true privacy. This would certainly be a lovely surprise.

 

**_-F/A-_ **

 

Evening crossed into night as Sylvia drove out of DC. Her Servant sat beside her, frowning contemplatively out the window at buildings and the occasional late-night pedestrian. It was the third day of Rider’s new life, and she was performing quite well. She was perceptive, strong, and rather taciturn, exactly the sort of noble warrior Sylvia had expected given her history. She would of course have accepted no less.

Her backup for the War had successfully summoned his Servant not a day later, though Sylvia had not been there to meet the spirit at the time. It irked her, this superfluous man’s involvement in the final stages of her master’s plan. Sion, per their strategy, possessed two Servants in this war and she understood the need for security through redundancy. Still, even though things could not have gone more smoothly thus far, Sylvia could not shake her irritation, as well as a sense of looming dread.

At a time like this, such feelings were perfectly rational, she assured herself. A Holy Grail war was cutthroat and vicious, with lives lost at every turn. Taking it lightly would be negligent, and Sylvia was prepared to do everything in her power to secure the grail. She was, after all, the only mage at Sion suitable for a task this vital. From her earliest lessons she had excelled in every subject she could put her mind to, and between that talent and a lot of hard work she had cultivated skill that she was confident outstripped all but her master. In this sense, Sion had committed everything it possibly could to the war.

Anything less than victory would be an unacceptable insult to both her own pride and that of the Institute. And so she worried.

Sylvia felt her grip tightening on the wheel, and quickly relaxed herself, but her Servant had already noticed the slight change in posture.

“We are safe, Master. I sense no enemies.”

“Thank you, Rider,” said Sylvia, “But your concern is unwarranted. I am… preparing myself.”

“Is this other Master truly so terrible a man?” asked Rider.

Sylvia frowned, tapping the wheel.

“He is… a somewhat unique form of irritating.”

Rider nodded.

“I am more interested to learn his Servant’s identity in truth. Should they survive to the end of the War I will be forced to cross blades with them. We should take the measure of their strength as soon as possible.”

Sylvia’s frown deepened.

“That’s already been accounted for. If it comes to that, they won’t be a problem.”

“Perhaps,” said Rider. “I would certainly not reject a strong ally in the coming battles.”

The Servant sat tall in the passenger seat, her posture perfect and faintly regal. Her tawny hair was braided at the sides but flowed freely down her back, and her features were severe in the orange street lights.

They soon reached the bridge and pulled over. Rider exited the car first, followed by Sylvia. They walked to the middle at a deliberately slow pace; she would be damned if he ever managed to make her hurry. The moon was almost full, casting a glow over the warm night. The river below them was pale, wind whispering through the trees that lined the banks. A thin figure leaning against the railing gave them a lazy wave.

“Sylvia vi Chenille!” he said. “Glad to see you managed to make it this far.” He grinned. “Be a shame having to reassign Rider there before the roster even fills out.”

“Reynolds.” said Sylvia, brushing back a lock of blonde hair to hide her irritation. “I was wrong, then. Summoning is more intuitive than they say, especially if you can manage it. Remind me, again, how you placed in the aptitude test. 43rd percentile? Or was it 41st?”

The man tilted his head toward her, his smile remaining.

“Come on Syl, you know numbers don’t mean shit here. This is _magic._ And hey - call me Garrett.”

“Let me see your Servant.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Oh, leaving out the pronouns, huh? Well dodged, Syl.”

“Show me your Servant, _spare.”_

Garrett closed his eyes in mock frustration.

“Your wish is my command.”

He snapped his fingers and a ball of light appeared beside him then solidified into a person.

It was a woman, about the same height as Sylvia. She wore a tanned hunting outfit of brown leather and furs, complete with hide boots and belt. Several knives and other tools hung from her waist, and a rifle was slung across her back on a black bandoleer. She had a cheerful expression, and a relaxed posture. Her hair was dark brown, and gathered into a loose ponytail at the back. As the light subsided, she walked up to Rider, who barely had time to widen her eyes before the unknown Servant seized her hand and began to pump it up and down enthusiastically.

“Greetings! Hello there! Good evening to you both!” she exclaimed. “I’m proud to call myself the Servant of Mr. Reynolds! I do really hope we can all work together with no problems. I’m mighty enthusiastic about my odds, with good people like this on my side!”

Rider stood there, scrambling for words.

“Ah… yes,” she said. “I also hope to be able to rely on your power in this War…”

Garrett looked pleased at his Servant’s effect on Sylvia’s.

“Sylvia. Rider. This is my Servant.”

He had a strange grin on his face.

“Go ahead. Ask me what her class is.”

Sylvia eyed the friendly woman’s weaponry and then glared at Garrett, arms crossed.

“You were given explicit orders to summon a Lancer Class servant, Reynolds. An Archer requires an entirely different strategy.”

 _“_ Archer? Heh. I can’t decide if I’m a genius or a madman - because no matter how much I search, I can’t find a single mention of what she is in any past Grail Wars. Say hello to _Ranger_.”

For the first and certainly not last time, Sylvia vi Chenille failed to conceal her surprise from Garrett Reynolds. Wide-eyed, she looked askance at the strange woman and found her sporting a grin just as broad, though far less predatory.

“The way he tells it I’m something of a curiosity, which I guess is fitting. This city, this time, it’s all so new to me! I feel like I could fight an army, I’m so excited!”

Sylvia opened and closed her mouth a few times trying to collect her thoughts. She managed to keep her voice steady as she finally asked a question.

“There have only been five servants summoned thus far, and she’s clearly not an overseer like Ruler. How is it even possible you summoned outside the seven basic Classes?”

Garrett was still grinning, though thankfully he had moved his jubilant gaze to his Servant.

“Hell if I know! I’m a combat mage, hadn’t touched a summoning circle in my life ‘til all this. Complicated technical stuff is your area of expertise, isn’t it?”

‘ _It’s happened,’_ she thought. ‘ _The first error.’_ Something had gone wrong, exactly as she had feared. ‘ _We were supposed to summon Lancer, but… what even_ is _a Ranger?’_ A bit of control, no matter how small, had slipped from her grasp. ‘ _This will take days to correct for. How can he be pleased about such a crucial mistake?’_ She felt sweat slide down her neck.

“Then we will have to test her capabilities. Come on, we can discuss more at the safehouse, and we will attract less attention using mundane means of transportation.”

She did not wait for a response before turning around and starting back across the bridge, though she heard his footsteps behind her as she walked. The Grail War had yet to even begin, but already it defied her expectations.

Halfway to the car it decided to hammer the point home.

Ranger noticed the presence first, stopping dead in her tracks and holding a hand up. Sylvia and Lancer turned around when they heard her footsteps cease. All traces of the Servant’s previous cheer had vanished, her eyes fixated on a spot somewhere in the middle distance. Her hand motioned them to retreat.

Sylvia reversed her course, staying back while keeping her eyes forward. Rider, however, continued walking ahead, her expression unchanging. Suddenly both Servants blurred into movement, and she heard an explosion.

Sylvia abruptly found herself back where she had started, feeling severely winded in the arms of Garrett’s Servant. Rider stood exactly where she had been, suddenly in full battle attire and holding an ornate spear. It was smoking in several places. All Sylvia had seen were a few oncoming flashes of yellow and then she had been gone.

“I see him!”

Rider drew back her spear and its tip burst into green flame. With a mighty yell she hurled it and several miles away, the top of a building exploded.

“He evaded my attack. The enemy’s speed is remarkable.”

Sylvia started toward Rider, intending to ask more about the nature of their attacker, when the events of the past several seconds repeated themselves. The world before her blurred away, and she felt herself thrust backwards. A second thunderclap split her ears and a rush of clashing metal followed close behind.

When Sylvia opened her eyes once more, she found herself standing next to a wide-eyed Garrett on the far end of the bridge. Ranger stood at the halfway point, her daggers drawn, with Rider slightly farther ahead. Opposite from her, cloaked in the shadow between two street lights, was a Servant.

As Sylvia slowly regained her senses, something began to glow. She realized with some surprise that it was their attacker, shining as if the night were melting into a new dawn around him. He stood relaxed in a simple white tunic, his close-cropped black hair matching in its simplicity. His leather sandals completed the picture - not of a poor man, but of someone who was simply unconcerned with flaunting his prestige. His left hand rested on a composite bow of leather and animal horn, while his right was drawn behind his back. Sylvia couldn’t see any evidence of a quiver. He watched them coolly through eyes lined with black khol, as one might regard a rather annoying trespasser.

But his aura betrayed his simple appearance. His sheer presence weighed heavy on all four of them to the point that Sylvia was finding it difficult to breathe. The man who stood across from them was no doubt in the very highest tier of Servant - a man from ancient times who had passed into the realm of legend countless centuries before even Rider. The thousands of years of history between him and them bore down on Sylvia, crushing her beneath his power. It was a new feeling - that of prey, looking up to regard something on a level she could barely even begin to perceive.

“Servants and Masters of the Grail. I am Archer.”

He brought his right hand out to rest upon his bow. Ranger and Rider tensed like springs.

“Let this be an example.”

His hands flickered faster than either Master could react, but Rider had already leapt into action, sprinting to meet him in the blink of an eye. Her flaming spear sped towards his chest, the air howling as it split apart.

Archer made no move to avoid it. There was no impact. Rider was thrown to the side and rolled to a stop, kicking herself back onto her feet, and glaring angrily. Ranger had yet to act, still circling the enemy. The Archer stood unmoved, both hands resting on his bow. Sylvia frowned.

_‘What…?’_

This time the explosion was behind her. She spun to see the remains of a section of trees in the distance, vaporized and smoking. Realization hitting her, she turned back and saw the neat, thin streak of golden light across Rider’s armor.

_‘She wasn’t thrown to the side… she was avoiding his shot.’_

Archer had nocked, drawn, taken aim, and released, all in less time than it took for Sylvia to blink. That Rider was even able to dodge was a testament to her speed. Sylvia felt a rush of terrified excitement.

‘ _So this is how Servants fight.’_

Garrett’s face was a mask of fear and awe as Rider went in for another pass.

“I’d only heard stories…”

To his credit he wasn’t shaking, and he kept his feet against the searing pressure of both servants’ warring presences. Rider twisted almost impossibly in the midst of dodging a volley and hurled her spear. Archer ducked the throw but she had already landed and rushed him, sword in hand.

“Master!”

Garrett’s eyes snapped to his own servant.

“Put up a barrier! This is for real.”

His hands slammed down on the concrete, a glowing bubble of magic materialized, and Ranger moved.

Archer had abandoned his bow, slinging it across his back. Light pooled in his right hand, solidifying into a beam, straight, yet somewhat indistinct. Holding it like a staff, he matched Rider blow for blow while Sylvia could barely follow her sword, though she noted that it was covered in green fire just as her spear had been.

‘ _She should be able to break through a simple construct like that with ease. What is he?’_ With a horrible metal screech, he forced her back, and readied a counterblow.

Ranger appeared in her line of vision without warning, her knife aimed at Archer’s neck. Again, he made no attempt at dodging. Light in his off-hand quickly became another staff and rose to meet the blade. It glanced off harmlessly, but Ranger used the momentum to counterattack. Her fist shot toward his face only for him to bring his bow up, catch it in the string, and spin her body clockwise in the air.

Ranger fell bodily to the ground, and started to scramble to her feet only to find Archer pointing his bow, fully drawn, at her face. It was then Sylvia realized the nature of his arrows. They were the same solid constructs of light he had been wielding by hand, shining even brighter than Archer himself.

Ranger was on all fours, helpless before the power in front of her. Yet she met Archer’s gaze with a smile.

“B-Rank, Speed.”

The corners of Archer’s mouth tightened slightly. “Did you speak? I could not hear.”

“Speed. I’d say that’s your lowest attribute, right? Good to see even the best have something they’re rightly not great at.”

“Your efforts are not worthy of evasion, Servant. My responses are merely to demonstrate your utter insignificance.”

His grip tightened further. The bow’s strings were bent to their utter limit.

“You however…? You are permitted to dodge.”

He released his arrow.

The impact nearly deafened Sylvia’s ears. She gritted her teeth as it raged against Garrett’s barrier, making it flicker. There had been a brief flash of light, but the bridge was now dark once again, choked with dust. Archer’s glow was first to return, illuminating the scene through the debris.

A gaping, jagged hole had been blasted through the bridge to the riverbed beneath it. Water had spouted through from the force of the explosion, wetting the concrete, but Rider and Archer remained entirely dry. Sylvia searched for Ranger in vain, but she was nowhere to be found.

Rider leveled her spear at Archer.

“Impressive. I would have the name of so powerful a foe.”

Archer met her gaze, his bow relaxed at his waist.

“I do not deal in cliches. Earn my respect.”

Sylvia felt a shift in the air. Rider’s gaze had more than intensified - it was as if her entire existence had solidified and sharpened. Her hair rose, her posture dropped, and her killing intent battered through the air like a hurricane gale. A small crack had appeared in Rider’s calm facade, and a small, terrible piece of her true self stared back through it. Sylvia felt a strain on her bond with the Servant, like a ravenous beast pulling at its chains, snapping between the bars of its cage.

“You shall have your wish, Archer!” Rider snarled, her eyes wide.

She began to spin her lance, whispering words in her own language as green embers gathered around her, tumbling and sparking into streaks of fire. The emerald flames grew like a thing alive, lapping at the sky and forming shapes of ferocious animals and soldiers. Sylvia could hear the bridge groaning under the pressure.

Finally she pointed her spear to the heavens, and the storm broke with an audible crack, fire and wind swirling about the point.

“I will show you the power that defied Rome and burned Londinium to ashes!”

She swept it down to face Archer, who now had both hands on his bow once more.

**_“ANDRASTE’S VENGEANCE!”_ **

Sylvia watched the ground under riders feet fragment. In the same instant she saw a flash of green and yellow as a wave of debris and dust shook Garrett’s shield. For several seconds there was nothing but blotchy light and the noise of gravel falling.

“Wow.”

Garrett’s grin was strained, but still there, so aside from a little magical exertion Sylvia assumed he was fine.

“Would it be too much of a jinx to ask if she got him?”

She almost laughed at that, but then the dust began to clear, and his face fell into a scowl.

“Shit...”

Rider was standing, but barely. She visibly shook, beams of light embedded in her left leg and right arm. The flames of her noble Phantasm had faded away except around the tip of her spear, held barely an inch from Archer’s eye by his bare hand.

“An impressive effort, indeed - and yet, utterly useless. Andraste, was it?”

He pushed back and Rider began to sink slowly but surely toward the ground, her teeth gritted with pain. Archer’s eyes shone with what seemed like fanatical glee as he continued to speak.

“Before my True and Blessed mandate, all false idols are reduced to nothing. Least of all that _pathetic_ attempt from your _whore_ of a Goddess-”

Archer froze, his neutral expression betrayed by eyes wide with shock. Blood was running down his arm.

He reached a hand up, felt it, inspected it in the light of his glow. The blood was indeed his. As his opponents watched with bated breath, he ran his hand up the stream of blood, to the source. He had been shot cleanly through the flesh of his left shoulder.

“Pardon me… but I do believe this man may be bothering you.”

Ranger dropped down from a grove of trees at the far end of the bridge. A large bruise was painted across the left side of her face, and her coat was still smoking from Archer’s earlier assault - but she was alive. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of her rifle. Archer’s eyes followed her as she slowly limped over towards Rider’s location.

“Sorry I took so long. It, ah, turns out swimming is quite difficult in leather.”

Archer held his bloody hand up to his face. His eyes had gone from shock to cold rage - but his face betrayed nothing else. His gaze fell on Ranger.

“This will be repaid.”

His body's glow shifted to the sharp, bright tones of a Servant’s spirit form. Without a word, he collapsed into a small orb and dispersed before their eyes. The fight was over.

Sylvia fell to her knees. She was holding back tears. The first battle for her master’s Holy Grail - and she had done nothing but spectate and need rescuing. Even worse, the appearance of a Servant like Archer - whose power dwarfed even her own Servant’s with ease - sent shocks of despair through her mind.

“Glad you didn’t die, Ranger! That would’ve sucked!”

“I’m glad that you’re glad that I’m not dead, Master!”

Reynolds dropped his barrier and rushed over to his servant, slapping her happily on the shoulder.

“He won’t be forgetting you anytime soon.”

Her footing wavered. He barely caught her before she could hit the ground. With a little effort, he pulled her arm over his shoulder and she slung her rifle onto her back.

“Thank you. I’m awfully embarrassed.”

Sylvia stumbled toward Rider. She hadn’t moved from the spot where she released her Noble Phantasm - her condition was worrying. Sylvia checked with her as to the extent of her damage, and began to walk her back to the car. Garrett and his Servant followed behind.

“I can’t believe it… he shook off your Noble Phantasm like it was nothing.” said Sylvia.

“It was not simple strength. I felt something when he blocked me, as though my strength had vanished.”

Rider craned her neck to look at her fellow Servant, and nodded solemnly.

“Your shot was well-aimed, Ranger.”

She let out a nervous laugh.

“Well that’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid I was aiming for his head…”

Rider blinked, unsure how to respond. Sylvia took a deep breath and centered herself. The authorities would be here soon, and they could not afford to be discovered by Enforcers in this sorry state. She glanced hopefully toward the end of the bridge, but found the car a battered upturned husk of its former self.

“Rider, we need transportation, now.”

The woman nodded and held out her hand. The winds picked up, and whirled with increasing speed. They converged on a single point - and then they stood before a magnificent war chariot inlaid with gold and crimson, pulled by a team of black horses. There would be just enough room for all of them to fit.

“What will we do, if we encounter that Servant again?” muttered Sylvia, mostly to herself. “With that power… and with the ability to negate a Noble Phantasm…”

“No. This is a favorable outcome.”

Sylvia looked up. Rider had taken the reigns of the chariot, and her face seemed to have regained a bit of color. Her eyes bore the same savage glare as before her Noble Phantasm. Her hair, silhouetted against the moon, billowed around her, giving her a strange, otherworldly appearance. She drew a dagger from her belt, and held it between them.

“I require no Noble Phantasm to claim my due. When next we meet, I shall flay his skin from his body with nothing more than this blade. It shall be a privilege worth savoring.”

Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet night air, furious yet cold. Sylvia stared back at her. She could do nothing else.

Rider cracked the reigns, and her horses took flight, snorting and spitting. As the chariot tipped through the warm summer sky, Sylvia realized nothing had changed, despite the terror of the battle that now lay behind her. The dread she felt was unmoved: a black spot in her heart that could only leave when she reached the conclusion of this war.

She had a feeling it would be a hard, bloody ordeal getting there.

  



End file.
